Sunday, September 28, 2008

I have to share a true story, as I have been asking myself over and over, "What would someone else do in this situation?"... I am also attempting to win a monthly price by entering this past post under the theme: "DON'T YOU HATE IT WHEN...". I was too late last week, so here we go again...apologies for anyone who's already read this!If I make you laugh, or you simply just feel sorry for my experience (which oh my god, you absolutely should as I am still recuperating)...go vote at http://blokthoughtsnmore.blogspot.com!

Don't you hate it when you go to a 5 Star Spa only to be molested by a 350 pound porn addict?

Yesterday, my husband and I treated ourselves to a few spa treatments at a new resort spa that recently opened up. Very chi chi (um not like [chi] as in "chia pet", but like [sheeshee] as in "wow, only snobs would go here"...). We actually made our reservations over a week ago, and while scheduling over the phone, lovely Dawn the receptionist began to lay out our agenda to me explaining that first, your husband will start with "Mike" for his reflexology at 9:00am."

OK, hold on Sally. Er, I mean Dawn. Mark plus Mike will just not work.

Me: "Um, excuse me but could I possibly request that my husband be scheduled with a female for his services? I don't really have a preference, however for some reason he is just more comfortable with a woman."

Them: ".......well, Okay.....let me see......".

Bottom line, we figured it out. My lovely husband could breathe a sigh of relief as he'd be having both Anna and Meghan working over his entire naked body. And I would have "Mike".

Let's just break here for a moment. I need to create a vision for you. If you could close your eyes, and just listen to me for a few moments, and create this character in your mind, as it really has everything to do with the point of my story.

Description:

Male, Caucasian, approximately 5 feet, 3 inches.

Weight approximately 358 lbs.

Facial hair - untrimmed, too much to account for, all over the place - even out of nose and ears.

Glasses - 80's style, very thick. So thick that I wondered if he could even see through them without tripping.

Goes by the name of "Mike".

Personal Habitation and Concerns:

Most likely lives with his elderly mother. Aside from new massage job he is anxious to start, spends most of his time at home amidst a house that is excessively filled with clutter, old open food containers, magazines and newspapers. Owner of 17 cats and spends most hours of the day and night on the computer. Suspect has been reported to police various times for congregating near local elementary schools for hours at a time during afternoon student dismissals.

Have I created a picture in your mind??? Hold that vision, very closely my dear friends.

So, back to our story. Mark and I enter the spa, go to our respective locker rooms, undress, put fancy robe and sandals on and then meet in the "relaxation room" where we wait to be called for our first treatment. We were gorging ourselves on dried apricots and coconut slices, sipping water entrenched with healthy green tea and antioxidant additives...(PS...acai berry!!! Remember, from Oprah??!!).

The door opens and a cute yet empowering looking female slowly walks into the room and in a seductive yet slow spoken voice we hear the word "Mark?"... I smiled at him and said "Enjoy baby." They walked out together. I continued to sip my health water, and put my feet up as I slowly slipped down into my glorious leather recliner. Aaaahhhhh. What peace.

And then the door opened.

[Flashback to vision created above, as character "Mike" enters the relaxation room.]

"Susan?"

I looked at him with probably a look of sheer panic and then turned around to look at the wall behind me, as if there was a room of 75 other souls in this tiny little cubicle of what they should now NEVER call a relaxation room where I had thought just moments earlier lost myself in a total peaceful bliss. Is there another Susan in the room that I hadn't noticed? Please? Anyone?

Me: "Hi."

Character Created: "Hi, I'm Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichael."

Me: [unspoken thought]: "Oh God No."

I walked along with him, and somehow gained enough control of myself not to cry. As we walked into the therapy room, candles were lit, soft music was playing, and as he asked me to "disrobe" letting me know he would return in a just a few moments, I decided I would get through this. Shit, I was paying $90 for Mike, and I was going to manage. I ripped off my robe and jumped under the sheet and blanket so fast, pulling it up past my ears to make sure I was totally covered before Mike's "quick" return.

I hear a knock on the door. I can't say anything because I think I'm in shock. I was face down, totally naked under the sheet and blanket, of course a habit I have gotten into but wished I had never become comfortable with, as today I wished I had the biggest pair of skin covering granny panties ever created on earth. A camisole tank top (or winter ski coat) would have been even better. My shield of cover however only lasted for a minute or two, as I begin to realize that Mike is the LEAST HUMBLE OR RESERVED masseuse I have ever had...in one split second with a major whipping sound my sheet was pulled all the way off my body down to my legs, so two-thirds of my entire body and full ass was showing.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I can now after the fact say in full confidence, my man Mike is an ASS man.

Not only was my ass showing, my "betty" as I will now refer to it as, was pretty much exposed as well, not to mention the specific positioning of my legs that he helped assume, arching and spreading them just perfectly prior to the start of our interaction.

And then, it was silent. Except for Mike's breathing. Have you ever known anyone with COPD, or someone that might be in the very least a loud breather (with interrupted snorts) while sleeping? That's my man Mike. So that is what I listened to for the next 50 minutes, in addition to the exaggerated oil squirts into Mike's hands, as he began to fondle my entire body.

Then, I only had my thoughts to get me through the remainder of the time:

"Ok, is he breathing that way because he is just a bigger person, or am I imagining that it started as soon as he removed the blanket off of me and my ass and betty are so exposed that Mike has never seen such nakedness at one time and he is in awe of this woman in front of him that I think he is inappropriately fondling or in the very least inappropriately exposing too much of skin and body parts at any one given time?

"Or maybe Mike is very happily married and does NOT live with his mother which I am totally convinced he does, and maybe he does not sit at his computer and look at porn all day while eating chips and hot pockets since he now has this cushion job to stare and feel up naked women five days a week?"

"And as he moves around the table, always with one hand on, or under, or above my entire ass region I wonder if it is just his belly rubbing my finger tips as they lay limp (from total shock) or is it other mid-regional male body parts that he in some way manipulates to touch or rub over my fingers repeatedly to enhance the entire situation for his own self-pleasure?"

"Wait Sue, don't you remember the last couples massage Mark and you got (both by female masseuses I might add) where you both commented how nice it was to have people who weren't so conservative and actually had the sheet pulled down enough to expose part ass, while they also massaged a good portion of our upper buttocks which was actually somewhat pleasurable however, why in god's name at this very moment do I feel the sheet down along my upper thighs and Mike is not only ensuring a FULL buttock massage but hip, sides, upper thighs and butt crack squeezes and pinches no less all during my "upper body" portion of this session, which also I might like to add lasted almost the entire time of the this 50 minute (felt like 749 minute) treatment?"

"And come to think of it, during my lower leg section I never remember being so carefully arched and positioned to the point that my legs were propped, split and angled to such perfection you would think I was about to start labor and delivery in stirrups, and in addition I do not remember ever getting such inner thigh attention as my legs were lifted and spread again with sheet falling and shifting everywhere to ensure expose of my trimmed betty just as if I was on display for the entire world to see."

And then, we were done. As Mike slowly pulled the entire sheet up to my neck, he did his one last total body/ass feel down moving his entire arm from the top of my covered body down to the bottom. I heard shuffling, and then felt my robe being strategically placed along my abdomen, and felt the presence of someones face too close to my own. I slowly opened my one eye to peek, and Mike was staring at me about an inch from my face, with a smile resembling a little boy who had just learned how to masturbate for the first time, and spoke slowly:

"Our time has come to an end, Susan."

Buddy, this was not "our" time.

But Mike, maybe if I can get past all of this in the next few days, I'll call Dawn for another appointment next month. Now, I'm off to the shower.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

I could not make this shit up.I also can't take credit for the product information below... most of it came directly from its own website...

What I CAN say is YOU HAVE GOT TO CHECK THIS OUT!!!I am actually contemplating growing out my hair "down there" to get my own betty ready! Pink party in a box??? For my box??? WHAT??? http://www.bettybeauty.com/

Product of the Week (or month, or even CENTURY!!!):"Betty for the hair down there..."

Hot pink means play.Adventure down below!Celebrate!The first safe color for the hair down there.FUN betty is a hot pink party in a box!FUN betty color for the hair down there.Go girl, it's your birthday!Or your anniversary or your wedding or his birthday!It's the perfect gift!Follow the easy directions for safe color.Natural looking.No mess.No drip.Use it every time you candy!

Actual Customer Quotes:

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“I love it! First weekend with a new guy - and I’m a real blonde…” - Patti, 45

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“This product is fabulous! I’ve now got a “girls weekend” planned for a group of us to get together and get our betty ready!” - Sarah, 35

“Betty is gentle with no reaction and very simple to use. Great results! Would like to try other betty colors. Thanks betty!!” - Tracie, 28

“I was always embarrassed when I was first getting intimate. The women were surprised at how gray i really was. I know it’s called ‘Black betty,’ but this product is a must for men, too.” - Ted, 38

“Very good product, the process and the result were exactly as described. Very easy to use. I did this as a birthday surprise for my husband: he loved it.” - Valerie, 32

“Becoming a FUN betty was easy and completely worth it- every time i remember the gorgeous hot pink color, I feel like I’m keeping a sexy secret.” - Alison, 30

“For years I haven’t had any hair down there. But, now that i have Blonde betty, I’ve grown back just a sweet small patch. I love having a blonde betty. Thank you.” - Julie, 36

“I am having a wedding soon and can’t wait to give Betty to my bridesmaids and mother as gifts. I think it’s going to be a great occasion for us all to get our Betty’s ready!” - Ashley, 26

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

I have realized this week that I owe you a very sincere apology. It was just over 48 hours ago that I was faced with the unfortunate reality that you have ultimately inherited my atrocious "white rhythm".

You both were so brave to attend Sunday's cheer leading camp at the high school. How overwhelming and intimidating it must have been to be whisked off into the massive crowds, searching for any possible familiar face in your smaller break out groups and attempt something you have never tried before.

Sydney, for you to tell me on our ride home that you cried while I was gone broke my heart. And how brave of you to walk up to one of the older cheerleaders and say "I'm having problems." Tears and all. I am so proud of you.

I'm honored and so glad to have had the opportunity to watch you perform at the end of Sunday's class. I have many pictures, two videos, a very intense migraine headache that has lasted 3 days now not to mention the strawberry Laffy Taffy still stuck in the back of my teeth which I found while fumbling through your snack bag. You really did me proud... white rhythm and all girlies.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

1. I QUIT trying to cover you with your favorite blanket on the couch only to be scolded at that it wasn't "tucked" appropriately under your fucking two little feet tight enough. Next time, you can take a pillow right to your face.

2. I QUIT staying up after I've put all four of you little pieces of crap to bed, only to pack lunches, check homework, throw in a load of laundry, sign 2 permission slips, throw that now wet load of laundry into the dryer, pick up ice pop wrappers left on the couch or carpet, find one of your only 2 favorite pairs of underwear and socks for the next morning... all while trying to bond with my dearest husband for quality time and sexual entertainment. It's just not meshing my four little ones.

3. I QUIT trying to speak in a rational but normal tone of voice even when you have reached the pinnacle of lost tempers, to help mediate your frustrations on Mr. Miller for the math assignments you forgot to do last night while I was so luxuriously enjoying curriculum night for 2.5 hours at your un-air conditioned elementary school filled with PTA style parents who seemed to gleam from cheek to cheek like it was an absolute honor and thrill to be there.

4. I QUIT tyring to negotiate with you to get dressed on school mornings so that the other three kids who decided they'd like to watch TV for a bit while eating their cereal can actually put the TV on... and I especially QUIT holding a blanket up as a shielded wall so that you can get dressed on the couch at your leisure instead of walking 8 fucking footsteps to the bathroom to do so in privacy without screaming someone is watching you get naked.

5. I QUIT being the only person in the household to put new rolls of toilet paper on the holder. I also hope that tomorrow you all find yourselves taking one of those massive shits that require 27 wipes before you can call it safe to even stand up fully.

6. I QUIT doing laundry. Except mine and Mark's of course. I could care less what you smell like. Remember, you usually smell like "ass" anyway?

7. I QUIT negotiating turns on everything in this whole entire world you come into contact with. Turns rotating seats in the car. Turns to unlock and close the power door on the minivan. Turns to hold the remote control. Turns to sit at certain seats on the couch. Turns for who mommy lays with first. Turns for who gets to be a bitch for mommy each morning. Turns for who locks your youngest step-brother in the basement. Turns, Turns, Turns. You can all kiss my ass. It is MY TURN today.

8. I QUIT lying to all of you about how great your other parents are. They actually suck. We'll leave it at that. I'm done playing nice.

9. I QUIT being the "nice mom on the block" ...the one who every one wants to come to when others are being mean, when you want to know what a "lesbian" is, when you slide down mud hills and realize if you go home to your own mom with your new sneakers so dirty you'll be grounded for weeks, where you think our freezer is equal to the local community ice cream bar shop... I'm a mean Mom bitch from now my dear little neighborhood girlies.

10. I QUIT actually trying to plan and organize formal dinners and meals only to have each of you four little ass wipes taunt me about the daily selection and start negotiating 4 different options because you'd rather play outside for an extra 90 minutes during the time it would take me to cook those 4 different options. I'm on to you my children. Your future selections will now include Cheerios (they are multi-grain so I am not abusing you) or canned soup. And it is NOT your turn to have the Dora soup vs. the Jimmy Neutron soup. I am buying generic shaped noodles. Done.

My dear manipulative four little beings: You will all be headed to your other parents' house this coming weekend. I am counting the days with such vigor and anticipation, just as you would be if you were leaving on a trip to Disney World. Mark and I are going to reconnect, drink, eat foods you would be repulsed by and not feel guilty about it once this weekend.

We will also attend the Football game Friday night to watch you girls cheer, we will drive 30 minutes Saturday morning to attend another one of your football games and then Sunday afternoon see you at the soccer game.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

It was Emmy night my friends as I began to type this posting, and while I was not adorning a Hollywood designer dress (more like baggy pj pants with a thinning wife beater tank top and no bra), I would like to share an amazing honor I received earlier that day.

The Brillante Weblog Award. Check it out:

I believe this might mean that I have reached some type of professional blogger achievement today - (not to mention cyber stalking, carpel tunnel, and loss of work time which all are major accomplishments new bloggers can aspire to in trying to gain their first 3-8 followers).

The funny thing is where this award comes from... you MUST check her site out if you find any humor in my stories. I promise you will either pee your pants, laugh out loud, and possibly even start chanting the "F#_*" word naturally (she refers to me as another "potty mouthed mommy blogger"... yikes!) You will laugh the entire time. OMG. Read her spider post from earlier this month. It's hysterical.

So here is my very brief (and timed so I finish before commercial break) speech:

"I would first like to thank Katie (AKA Stray Raisins and Other Mommy Perks) for the extra 30-60 seconds you spend each week in clicking on this pour soul's blog in order to leave a comment. I am so proud to have found a reader who can also use the the "F_#*" word as common and naturally as myself.

Of course, I am supposed to thank God, because (I don't know, what do they say at every fucking award show speech)..."without him, I would not be here today".

And finally, to my writing team:

Senior writer (and husband) MSK, and contributing editors SMN, SNN, SMK and CJK. Without you I would be living a horribly boring life (yet probably on a deserted island somewhere with a martini in hand) where none of this content or story would ever be possible."

And now, for my own Award Nominees...Please check them out when you have a chance. Here's why:

OK, this is pure realism in the life of a mom. I laugh everyday and look forward to her next confession. Check out her posting around when kids say they're too sick to go to school. Yep, I must also see runs in the toilet or chunks on the carpet. No exceptions.

A more professional blogger (and newspaper journalist) who is hysterical and is one of the very few "professional" bloggers I visit. PLEASE to all the newbie bloggers who look forward to comments: check out her Sept. 4th posting "This is my third post...How to deal with trolls" and watch the video she has included. It is fucking hysterical. (See, there I go again with the "F_#*" word...sorry!!)

Saturday, September 20, 2008

I debated to publish this post because my dominant personality that desperately seeks for all people to like me stepped in. What would readers think of someone who talked about others to such a degree? Would they think I was so shallow and egotistical to speak of specific individuals in such an unfriendly and disrespectful way?

But then, the few people who read this know me well, and hopefully know I would never judge or make personal fun of people without actually doing the same to myself and my loving family.

So today, I have a confession. My husband and I have a practice of creating private nicknames for some of the people in our lives (and also for strangers in order to entertain ourselves while out in public). It has helped us in our pursuit of self-therapy and conversation. For example, it has allowed us to discuss his ex-wife and her lovely new fiance at soccer games and school functions without anyone knowing who we might be taunting, or I mean, speaking of. And while I know we are not supposed to judge people nor their actions ... the majority of it is all in fun. I mean that sincerely.

Today, I will share with you a sample of our most common secret nick names:

#1. My husband's Ex-Wife: "BM"

Now, I am sure some of you may be thinking that we might actually be referring to the more commonly known BM acronym of "Bowel Movement", which we probably could debate its practicality in this context. However, it has just become a more natural way for us to refer to her when others are around. Our definition of "BM" simply equates to "Bitch Mama".

Here's just a few examples of usage:

"Did you see the latest e-mail from BM?"

"How many questions did BM ask at the boy's school open house last night?"

"What a surprise, BM hasn't called the boys in 6 days during their visit with us this week... yet she'll fight us tooth and nail when we ask for a few hours extra with them on a weekend to celebrate your Mom's birthday???"

I would like to state for the record that this nickname is the contact entry name that pops up on Mark's phone when his ex-wife may call or text him at any given time.

I would also like to state for the record that this is a HUGE improvement from what USED to be her contact entry name on his phone when I first met him years ago.

#2. My husband's ex-wife's fiance: "BR"

"BR" was created a few months ago after listening to a Dr. Oz radio show. It was one of the first times Mark had ever become so intrigued with a radio talk show that he actually turned the volume up during one of our weekend trips in the car. The topic? A Man's Penis. We listened in awe, learned a lot of valuable information, and most importantly, knew from that very moment we would be referring to his ex's new fiance as "BR".

"BR" actually stands for "Big Ratio".

You see, amazingly enough, our bodies are fascinating. And in men who have larger waists (you know, those apple body types where more weight is carried in the midsection vs. upper or lower extremities), they actually have issues with different types of hormone production and stimulation. In men with bigger midsections, there is actually a hormonal chain of mechanisms that are triggered to cause a high amount of estrogen production in that abdominal fatty area, which in turn will effect a man's fertility and sexual desire...in a negative way.

Wow. Mark and I said that if only THIS type of information was published and advertised in "Men's Health" magazine, there would be a revolution in men's exercise and weight loss. Right??

And with that, let's just say new fiance has a rather larger than average abdominal ratio, tis our newest nickname, "BR".

#3. My own personal nickname: "Fiddy".

I would also like to point out that I am just as willing to place such vicious nicknames on my own loving family and self, and with that I would like to share with you my nickname which descended from the past 6 month struggle with my own weight. (I would also like to say in defense of new fiance above, while I am not an "apple", I am the most luscious, over-ripe PEAR shaped woman probably noted on this planet Earth.) The days of 120 pounds are long gone...and I have joked to my husband that because my recent scale reading had me weighing in WAY TOO CLOSE to the 150 pound marker, I have declared my new name to be "Fiddy". We will of course give this in honor of well known hip-hop artist 50 Cents, correctly pronounced of course "Fiddy Cent".

#4. My youngest daughters nickname: "Corky"

For whatever reason, we can't remember the name of the family TV series from years back which had the theme song "Life Goes On"... it was an all American family that included one sibling by the name of Corky who had Downs Syndrome. Now please, by NO means am I being condescending or insulting to anyone with this issue, however last year, when my youngest daughter's latest OCD tendency involved having to wear a full size snorkel mask to even enter a pool, "Corky" was born. I was thinking about posting a picture for you to observe, however she would never forgive me in her adult life.

#5. My husband's youngest son: "Jack"

Simply said, this would yes, stand for "Jack Ass". No elaboration needed.

With today's confessions, I am actually pondering the need to attend church to ask for his forgiveness.

Dear Lord,

Please forgive Mark and I for making such horrible fun of other human beings. We do not believe we are any better than others. We actually do this for mere entertainment, with also the possible need to make ourselves who are so far from "perfect" feel a little bit more normal.

We teach our children right from wrong, and would never accept demeaning others to their face, or in front of other people in a disrespectful manner. Please do not send us to hell.

Sincerely,"Fiddy"

I am hoping that every reader helps me in forgiveness and allows me to see that we are not the only human beings who resort to such horrid self entertainment. I am ready to hold a reader's nickname contest, so please please please send your top one or two in through a comment.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

I would like to announce to the world that I have not picked up a cigarette for social purposes or self fulfillment in:

18 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!That would be EIGHTEEN days!XVIII Days!Or for those that speak Spanish I believe it is something like: DIECI-OCHO dias!And even with all the success and pride that this achievement should bring to me today, I am consumed with yet another challenge I set out to combat about 18 days ago as well. I will whisper it softly so you recall what I am speaking of:

Myw - e - i - g - h - tpeople.

I am absolutely PETRIFIED to even look at the new scale I purchased probably 10 days ago. It's been that long since our initial meeting, and I can not put into words how fearful I am to meet again. PETRIFIED.

Since then, I've watched what I've been eating. Less carbs. More protein. More water. I've also been to the gym on a regular basis. I am just not FEELING any improvement what so ever. Actually, I feel more bloated. I feel big. I feel desperate. So desperate that I actually clicked on TWO diet advertisement pop-ups yesterday while working on my computer.

Has anyone heard about Oprah's Acai Berry diet? I think they claim it can cure several diseases as well. That's pretty serious.

Or how about one of those popular juice cleanses being advertised? I just can't believe that people would pay hundreds of dollars for a 2 week supply of shitty flavored JUICES just to piss them out over the days to follow. Hundreds of dollars to PISS every 20 minutes??? To my dear and loyal friend Gayle King of Oprah & Friends, XM Channel 156: I do not believe I will be a follower of the Blue Print Cleanse you so personally live by to lighten your load after weeks of binging.

I saw one of the regular school moms yesterday outside while I was waiting for the girls at dismissal. Boy did she lose weight. Wow. I was always so amazed at how beautiful she was, but sisters, let me tell you, she probably shed 30+ pounds this summer. And I fucking hated her yesterday for it.

But being the optimistic person I am, I am going to turn my negative feelings into positive energy. She will secretly be my newest internal motivation, without ever having a clue I think twice about her. It will not be her obvious dedication to weight loss. Nor will it be the fact that after at least 3 years that I've seen her around, she finally made a decision to take control of her weight and succeeded.

My internal motivation to continue my weight loss journey will now stem from the absolute FEAR and HUMILIATION that I will be assigned to the same booth as her at the next school festival, knowing the entire time that my boot leg-relaxed style-wide through the hip cut jeans will scream "WARNING, FAT MOM HERE!" next to her nicely pressed size 4 skinny jeans as the kids all line up in front of HER vs. ME to play our game and win a prize.

Now that's what I call realistic motivation. Another "Game On, Bitch".

After a little hiatus (aka dragged out of state for a 24/7 work meeting) this week, I am welcoming the opportunity to sit at my keyboard. It's been a challenging week. An old best friend lost her father, after just losing her mother last year. I sit and bitch about the tiniest things in life, things that now this week seem so trivial, while several states away this beautiful human being has endured such realities I couldn't begin to imagine. And I ask myself over and over, what is the lesson and gem that will come out of her experiences these past couple of years that will change her for the better? There will be lessons. And she will be better, if at all possible.

Yesterday, another best friend who just relocated half way across the country with her company of 7+ years lost her job. Same industry as me. Solid employee, proven performance. These things unfortunately don't matter all too much these days. The text came around 9:45am:

"Just lost my job."

When we got the chance to talk later that day, her response was something that has stuck with me:

"I was prepared, but I wasn't prepared.""I was ready, but I wasn't ready.""I thought it would happen, but I didn't think it would happen."

How true this is about so many things in life. How often do we live each day, knowing what fate will most likely bring, but do nothing at all to possibly prevent it or in the very least, better prepare for it. Divorce. Family issues. Work. Health. Personal Goals. So many things.

So, today for at least a few moments this morning, I am making a promise to myself to prepare for fate. At least a little bit better. Recognizing it probably would be a first step. Here's a couple of obvious ones:

Fate that my ex-husband or husband's ex-wife will most likely NEVER change. Why am I not changing my own actions to come to this realization? Instead, I bang my head against a wall day after day, week after week, causing angst to myself and to my husband trying to be nice and trying to rationalize behavior by people I have now learned through therapy, friends and family is just not possible.

Fate that my own career carries a huge question mark over it...the first true threat of it's kind since I started over 12 years ago. Am I sitting here ready for it, or am I really not ready? Have I convinced myself by saying I am envious of others who have received 6 month packages after losing their own positions, or am I fooling myself?

I think I'm prepared to look at these issues with more truth starting today.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Who the HELL came up with this "Tooth Fairy" bullshit. I would like to declare war on her and her entire oral kingdom. If I actually caught anything remote looking to her either flying or twinkling through my house at this very moment, I would pluck her wings off one by one - very, very slowly. Then I would set her on the ground and order her to "FLY NOW, BITCH!"

You see, we can not be the only parents negatively impacted by the existence of such a thing. I am sick and tired of losing almost two hours of my precious sleep each night one of our kids loses a tooth. My God, we have FOUR KIDS!! That's got to be at least 40 nights of our lives, at LEAST! It's a disgusting plaque coated piece of enamel for god sake. The Tooth Fairy's kingdom must be the foulest smelling place on earth.

Last night, I could have came down to type for hours. Probably around 2:30am. Reason being, I realized that I had forgotten to try to "steal" Samantha's tooth and replace it with cash or coins - well let's just say coins because in this house it is guaranteed that on those specific nights neither Mark or I will ever have a few dollar bills in our wallets. We might have a $20, but there is no fucking way we have singles. And of course we don't realize this until after bedtime.

So, last night I went to do the exchange after hoarding our lunch money stash in the kitchen cupboard. Three bucks worth of quarters. Not much compared to the $10 bill they get if lucky enough to lose a tooth at their Dad's house, but hey, 98% of teeth fall out while with us, and I am not ready to take out a loan in today's economic crisis. Slowly, I tip-toed into their room and approached the creative new tooth dock she has built on her door: A tooth chart for when she plays school in her room, with an attached paper bucket built to fit our new pink and purple tooth pillow. In addition, I am prepared to retract the cool plastic knotted bracelet she was so kind to make me - er, I mean so kind to make the "Tooth Fairy". I was determined to have a successful mission my first go around.

I made it in with no one rolling over or popping their head up. This is a good sign.

I slowly crept over to the paper tooth bucket taped to her closet door where we had carefully placed everything for pickup earlier that night at bedtime.

Carefully, quietly, I look into the bucket. No fucking tooth pillow. I reach my hand in - maybe it's too dark and my eyes aren't adjusted. Nope. Nothing. That slimy little kid decided to do a switcheroo on me - er, I mean on the "Tooth Fairy" - and land that tooth and bracelet under one of her pillows on her top bunk. Are you kidding ME?? I can hardly reach my hand to the top level of the bunk, let alone reach around and prod without waking a soul. My life sucked at that moment.

As I pouted back to my bedroom, I was met with Mark's caring words: "Did ya get it honey?"

"No." [Sulking as any failure of a mother would do.]

"What? Did they wake up?"

"No. It's not there."

Now, for the sake of not losing my readers, let's fast forward one hour: Mark and I deciding if we should just wake up and have coffee - be it only 3:49am. We went through at least 10 different scenarios after 4 unsuccessful attempts.

Finally, the best alternative I could think of: I wrote a letter and left it under Samantha's shoes by the front door, noting that I couldn't take her tooth because her little sister kept waking up... Mark made me rip it up. Isn't that some Elf tradition around Christmas or something? Don't I realize she'll recognize my poorly disguised handwriting? UGH. I suck at this shit.

So, after deciding at 3:57 am that this topic had to be my next blog entry, I guiltily came to the conclusion that whatever Samantha's take was on waking up to her tooth still being under her pillow, she'd at least be 3 bucks richer this morning. And I needed to get some fucking sleep.

F_*# You Tooth Fairy. I am warning you. Stay away from my home. I have been sharpening my tweezers for the past 2 hours. Game on.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

It's been a year since we did a little shelf work in our tiny master bathroom. I am going to show you a picture of it, and ask my loyal readers: Is there something missing from this picture?

Remember, it's been ONE YEAR since this little project. This is where I get ready every morning. It was supposed to bring a feeling of "tranquil" to my personal space.

And then there are my pictures of the kids. Four tiny ornamental picture frames given to me by my mother-in-law. They were perfect. And now, I'd like to finally introduce you to my family:

Yes. This is my intimate family picture that has been sitting in my bathroom for one fucking year. And all I can ask you baby is, "What in god's name is wrong with us?"

I also have to say the words: YOU WERE RIGHT. A year ago, you laughed at me as I set the infamous "family" frame on the shelf, without a picture in it at the time. I explained that I wanted to find the "right" picture, and you laughed again. You specifically asked me how long it would be until that poor lonely frame would ever behold a loving family picture.

Well, one year baby and we're still rolling.

I can't say why I do this. But I know that this is one of the traits you and I excel at. Pure procrastinators and for this, we are that perfect match made in heaven. Thank you for laughing at me and with me. And I'll be counting down til next year to do a re-check on this situation. And I'll be ready to call us out again next September.

Our "family" frame may be sparing any personality today, but we both know that couldn't be farther from the truth, right? Hugs and kisses.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

I didn't sleep very well last night. I can't blame it on the wine since we only shared one bottle over a huge dinner last night (minus most carbs I might proudly add). There is usually only one other reason I can't sleep:

Excitement over a home purchase.

Mark said around 3am I rolled over and mumbled "I can't wait to see my chair in the morning."

I mean, how sad is that? But let me tell you, I found the most incredible chair. And not only did I find it and fall in love with it, I got an unbelievable deal. 50% off the $400 price tag because one of its legs had broken. Little did they know that I am married to a man with lots of tools who loves to build stuff. 30 minutes later and a trip to Lowes that cost us $2.39, my chair was 100% back in shape. And beautiful I might add. Sweetness. Ahhhhhh.....

I love to decorate, and one of the things I tell friends who ask me how to get started on their own homes or just a specific room is to start with one item that truly inspires you. A pillow. A picture. A piece of furniture or a lamp. Anything that you just absolutely love.

I absolutely LOVE this chair:

Maybe someone else out there can share in my joy.Until then, I'll be sitting on the couch staring at my new chair.

This weekend, our house is silent. Aside from the TV on low as Mark lounges on the couch reading the newspaper, there is absolutely nothing else going on. No footsteps running up and down the stairs. No tattle-taling. No one to say five thousand times "Mom, come here."

"Why? What do you need?"

"I NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED you."

For the amount of times I go up and down our stairs in this house you would think I would be emaciated, withering away to nothing. And we know that is NOT the case.

So anyway, today finds me with the ability to type on my computer without being harassed, bothered, pressured to go make waffles in between spell checks, etc. It's our weekend with no kids.

Yep. Nada. Zero. Four minus Four. How sweet life is this morning.

Mark and I decided 2 years ago to work the schedule so that every other weekend all kids are with their other respective parent. Boys are with their mom. Girls are with their Dad. And we are home alone, naked, ready to pull the shower curtain and baby oil out. (Ooh, sorry, I think I might have gotten a little carried away in my emotions here...).

We have the boys 50% of the time, and the girls are with us all the time except every other weekend. I'm sure you can imagine how precious these weekends are to us. This is OUR time to hit the gym, hit the bottle (oops, there I go again), and hit the sheets (damn, I can't stop!) from Friday afternoon until 5pm Sunday.

So pardon me if I don't get back to my keyboard until Sunday night. I'm off working on myself, my marriage and my husband. Cheers.

There are some things that I must consider sacred in life. And with blogging, some of these things are too special or personal to just blast out into this universal black hole of space for just anyone to see.

However, for anyone that has been in a failed relationship, I want to let you know that if you really work hard to learn what your part was in it all, there is such opportunity for greatness. Here's my greatness: my current husband.

In all of my misery with my weight and my misery with work, I received this text from him tonight after he read my recent post from work entitled "Short and Stocky":

Honey,

You are a very good writer. Your blog cracks me up. I know you won't believe me but your weight is not at a point where anyone would notice. It's just a number you are not comfortable with. You asked me a long time ago to be honest with you if I start to notice you gain weight. You look amazing! I love you Susan!

My 6 year old asked me this evening as I was showing the girls a brief set of 9/11 pictures on my computer sent to me by a friend:

"Mom, do you ever want to be a bad guy?"

Hmmm.

I think the question came from my comments while we were looking through the pictures. Some might not agree with me for being so up front with my girls who are only 6 and 8. The reality of what happened that day is so far beyond their understanding at this time, however living in New Jersey back then, I can still remember sitting in front of the TV that morning watching it all, wondering if my husband at the time had made it to his meeting in one of the towers he was late leaving for about two hours earlier. For some odd reason he had decided to run to the DMV that morning, (something he had been procrastinating about for several months mind you), and fortunately that first stop caused him to only reach the George Washington Bridge at the time the first plane hit. It took him days to account for his team.

They asked me how many people died. They asked me when I am going to die. My message to them is simply this:

Life is so precious. You never know what will happen to you or those you love, and that is why you need to take each day and enjoy it. If there is one thing I ask of you as a person, it is be kind to others, and always remember how important it is to help other people.

When I die, I want people to think good of me - how I was a good friend, a good person, someone who helped others and was always kind. While we lost over 3000 people that day, there were thousands more that risked their lives for days and weeks to help save others there who needed help. Some of these police officers, firemen, volunteers didn't sleep for days and days because they knew people needed them. That's the kind of person I want to be. That's what I want you to remember about our country and the people that live here.

Today I drove approximately 300 miles throughout my work day. Aside from listening to a lot of Oprah & Friends, (which I am addicted to since I purchased XM Radio last year and can be found on XM Channel 156 for any of you in search of yet another source of self-improvement), my blank driving time allowed me to focus on only ONE OTHER THING continuously all day long.

(HINT TO READERS: Today's Post Title = Me)

Let's just start out by saying that I bought a new scale last night and weighed myself this morning for the first time in probably one year.

And then let's just say that the "ONE OTHER THING" I continuously thought about all day long today was a specific number. Ummm...and that would be a T-H-R-E-E digit number. (Actually, it decided to scream out F-O-U-R digits, since it was kind enough to round my weight to the tenths place and include a decimal point for me, however this just makes my rounded out T-H-R-E-E digit number one pound more, so I am not even going to consider that part today.)

And then let me finally say this:

My weight is WAY TOO FUCKING CLOSE to my favorite XM Channel of self improvement.

Actually, it is SO close that I literally pulled the god damn instruction manual from the garbage to re-read proper usage for my new piece of equipment (who the hell has to ever read an instruction manual for a scale), and turned the god damn thing upside down realizing it HAD to be set on Kilograms, vs. Pounds. (Of course I don't even know off hand if kilograms would calculate more than pounds, but at that very moment, I knew they had to.)

Ummm........ nope.

Pounds. Manufacturer's preferred setting.

I suck. Actually, I need a liposuction tube to suck my body fat out. Everywhere. But instead, I will sulk around the house tonight and rename myself "Short and Stocky".

Then, I will wake up tomorrow and get my ass to the gym and eat dry celery sticks all day.I can't wait.Seriously.

And I am taking Tracey's suggestion, one of my few readers who suggested I continue to drink my wine for the sake of sanity, and in exchange, tack on another 20 minutes at the gym. Cheers Tracey. I'm off to uncork for the evening.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

I'm struggling today with words. I've had so many things to express...yet I have erased everything over and over again.

I HAVE managed to eat an apple with peanut butter in front of my computer screen though.

I am half way through day 9 of my own personal "pursuit of a healthier life". Back to the gym on a regular basis, better food choices and less consumption, no wine every single night, and most importantly which I have tried not to even admit in words on this site so far, no more social smoking.

And I would like to scream from the top of my lungs right now for everyone to hear:

Gym: Easy. Ok, not EASY, but I have always been a gym junkie, so this is merely making the commitment to be there 4-5 times per week again. Everything went down hill since I fractured my foot last Labor Day. What a lame excuse I still have. I have talked to my personal trainer this week - the one I haven't worked with since probably May - and am scheduling my torture sessions with him again. Hoping to start Saturday.

Better Food Choices: Medium Difficulty. I need some type of schedule or plan. If I take the time to plan ahead, I'm ok. When I don't, I'm done. I'm not going to extremes - just less carbs, more protein, more water. Blah, Blah, Blah. Like you really give a shit, I know. But this is self therapy remember? I can't entertain you 100% of the time.

No Nightly Wine: Fucking ridiculous. This isn't even acceptable to me. However, if I am doing well on food choices, it just doesn't make sense to defeat my efforts with all the wine calories. I did have a couple of glasses of wine the other night. And Friday night is cocktails with the girls. I'm not THAT fucking crazy.

Bye Bye Smokes: I'm embarrassed to even associate myself to cig smoking. EWW. I don't consider myself a smoker - never have. Just a "sneaker of cigs". You know, when you're out with the girls. Whatever. It is what it is, and I know I'm not fooling myself. SO, I am done. Day 9. I sometimes smoked zero in a day. A typical day this past year was 5. (Out on a weekend night with girlfriends that also lit up??? yuck!!! Don't want to think about it!) And that's from someone who didn't smoke a year and a half ago...someone who had quit the "social smoking habit" she picked up in college simply to lose weight.

By the way - my dad is a cardiologist.

How pathetic.

I'm going to try to make my words REALITY to me. If it helps me get to day 10, then I guess it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of me, right?

So, my humor isn't at par today. I'm annoyed with everyone, fidgety, very irritable and on the edge. But I think my lungs are pinker, and my jeans feel pretty good. Actually, so good that I think I've just convinced myself to open a new bottle of wine for tonight.

Monday, September 8, 2008

I am reaching out to the 3+ readers I think I might now have ... PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE can you tell me the magic formula for motivating your kids to keep a clean ass these days?

What the hell does it take to simply take a bath or shower???

I'm not asking for one every night - every other night would be miraculous in our home. I'd also like to negotiate that if the weather is cool AND you didn't have gym class Tuesday or Wednesday, I may even be able to be swayed and let you go for TWO days without one, but day THREE is a must. I mean COME FUCKING ON!!!

I have 2 Rules that call for INSTANT ASS CLEANSING:

1. If I can walk into your room while you're getting dressed or sleeping and clearly smell PLAIN OLD ASS, it is simply time to take a shower.

2. If your crotch is itching for a period of seconds...let's just say long enough for me to notice with the hopes that you are about to quit digging, but have to bring your attention to the need for you to pull your hand out of your fucking pants before you laugh and say, "Oh, sorry, I had an itch.", it is simply time to take a shower.

This week's motivational experiment worked on my 6 year old daughter: A new super-sized loofah created suds so bubbly she laughed from start to finish. My 8 year old was not so entertained.

In a past post, I talked about how one of my two new school rules this year is TAKING BETTER CARE OF OUR BODIES (IE, eating healthier, being active, brushing teeth, keeping a clean ass).

Dear Readers,

My children's asses are pretty clean most of the time. This is not because they want clean asses. This is because there is a certain point I insist on them washing their bodies for the sake of humanity and self care. Please do not think I am a terrible mother.

Sincerely,

Mother with a Very Clean AssPS... If you have any motivators, PLEASE pass on. I promise to report any positive outcomes.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

We're going to Mark's parents house tomorrow to celebrate Spencer's 8th birthday. It's been several weeks since we've seen my mother-in-law... Actually, the last time we saw either of them was prior to me initiating any blog attempt what so ever. So as Mark and I sit at home talking about our plans, I remind him that I have not sent his mother or sister my blogger link... only his Aunt Sharon.

"Why not?"

Well, you know... Aunt Sharon has a pretty good sense of humor; and she swears a lot; and she gets worked up about things like me so I don't think she'd be offended as your mom might be if she reads me writing about your penis."

"Yeah, good point."

"Yeah. But it's not like anything I do anymore could be a shock to your mom, right?"

And then, the story comes out. Again, as it usually does every so often . I don't think we can make it through a six month period without something reminding us. And when it happens, for some reason, we feel the need to re-live the entire scene chapter by chapter. How humiliating.

We were probably into our 6th week of dating... and when Mark worked night shifts back then I would work a short day and drive 30 minutes to his house to wake him up mid afternoon...in bed. I will never forget the day we heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Would Tracey EVER bring the boys over to visit without calling?"

"Um, no. But let me check!"

Mark slips boxers on, as I lay in bed naked waiting for something...

Silence... Door... Voices....

"Hi Mom!"

OH.................MY................GOD................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Did he just say "Hi MOM."??????????????????????

And there I sat. In his bed. Naked and panic stricken. Do I get dressed and go out? Do I wait here and pretend I am not even present? Do I jump out the fucking window, or try to make a run down the front stair case and get to my car? She had to see my car in the driveway. She knows SOMEONE is here. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, give me a sign. What do I do????

So being the professional adult that I am, I decided to quickly put my suit back on (minus my thongs...where the HELL were my fucking underwear???!!!), comb my fingers frantically through my hair and walk slowly out the bedroom door. I quickly wrapped my raincoat around me, and tip toed down the hall. I'm 36 years old for God's sake. This is silly and immature on my part, isn't it? We're adults. (All THREE of us, that is.) She has GOT to know that her son might actually still be interested in S-E-X, right???

I passed the boy's bedroom which was empty and quiet as it usually is each afternoon. I continued down the hall, and as I turned the corner, my face slammed directly into Mark's bare chest, as he was dressed only in his boxers. Directly behind him carrying a bin of kids toys was a beautiful short blonde woman who just looked at me with what I would now like to call a half smile, who while trying to keep her eyes in the direction she was headed I think quietly attempted to utter the word "Hi."

OK, this is HUGE. First impressions mean everything, right???

"Hi..."I responded, as I stretched out my hand so respectfully to introduce myself. "I'm Susan."[I just slammed your son.]

"Well, I'm Donna. It's nice to meet you."[Wow. Blonde AND big boobs?]

"It's nice to meet you too." Silence.....

Are you fucking kidding me? I can not believe this is happening to me. I'm really a good person. This does not look as bad as it is. Well, maybe it does look bad, and maybe it is a little bit of what it looks like, but we've been through a lot of the same shit, and married the same type of selfish assholes and we both ironically each have two beautiful children who know each other through day care and I am a pretty good cook and we've hit it off since day one of meeting each other and did I mention I'm a really good person????

(More silence as she sets down the bin of toys and kneels on the floor to begin assembly of a kids table and set of chairs she had been lugging up the stairs for the past I have no idea how many minutes or hours - the same past minutes and hours I was accosting her son in his bedroom thinking we were alone...)

"Well Donna, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom. It was very nice to meet you."

And there I sat. In the bathroom of Mark's upstairs house apartment. I think it had to be over 20 minutes before I heard her car pull out of the driveway, and Mark's loud laughter coming back up the stairs, calling out over and over again..."Sue, she's gone. You can come out now."

She considers herself a pit bull, and used to be a "hockey mom". Her joke Wednesday night went along the lines of this:

"What's the difference between a pit bull and a hockey mom?"

"A hockey mom wears lipstick."

She definitely came off as "feisty". She was cute with her humor, and it was obvious her goals were to show us she is not afraid to speak her mind, is willing to stand up for what she believes in and is willing to attack anyone standing in front of her. Of course, with all the criticism in the past week surrounding her, she had no choice but to do so.

The media is posing the question:"Will women support her because she's one of their own?"

Does the media think so little of our gender that we would actually support a candidate on the soul fact that she is a woman? This infuriates me.

Shame on me as a woman for having a few morals I believe in and pride myself on. Shame on me for actually having a core belief of "pro-choice" or a feeling that the NRA is too extreme and this country needs to review gun control with the number of unnecessary deaths every single day that occur by criminals, not hunters.

Palin is a women. She is strictly anti-abortion. She is a member of the NRA.

Friday, September 5, 2008

[Attempt of stern voice, sounding more like a 7 year old]: "Well obviously Lexie doesn't KNOW what she's talking about. What do YOU think a lesbian is?"

"I don't know. That's why we're asking."

Silence. Thinking of my daughter's best friend standing right next to her at this very moment. Actually, thinking even more of her father, who is a police officer, and his reaction once he finds out his daughter was learning about lesbianism at my house this afternoon during her play date.

"A lesbian is something that is not appropriate for kids your age to be talking about. We can discuss this later, but it is definitely not appropriate for me to talk about now in front of other parent's children."

Check out these lines from a real Craigslist Nanny Ad:(Reported this morning by the Associated Press)

"My kids are a pain."

"If you cannot multitask, or communicate without being passive aggressive, don't even bother replying..."

"I can be a tad difficult to work for. I'm loud, pushy and while I used to think we paid well, I am no longer sure."

"If you are fundamentally unhappy with your life, you will be more unhappy if you take this job, so do us all a favor and get some treatment or move to the Rockies, but do not apply for employment with us."

"Also, if you suspect all wealthy women are frivolous, we are not for you."

"I have all sorts of theories on how to stack my dishwasher, and if you are judgmental about Ritalin for ADHD, or think such things are caused by too much sugar, again, deal-break city."

Only people that have attempted "blogging" will even know what the hell I'm talking about - Unless you are a computer tech programmer, which the closest link I have to any knowledge of computers "behind" the screen is my ex-husband. Figures. Probably very good reason for "ex". Particularly since the only thing that comes to mind when I think of widgets is another slang name for a little boy's anatomical piece of "manhood". Probably not appropriate.

"Stop holding your widget!"

[Reader is reminded of recent post.]

So anyway, in my attempts to take the next step and improve or personalize the "look" of my so called blog, I attempted to add a different background yesterday. Unfortunately, the only thing I gained was loss of content.

I will continue to move forward and keep attempting this journey, however, if I lose readers because of blank space or erased links, or missing comments, I apologize now. It is not intended.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

I know my husband will be checking up on any new posts I've written as he slips off to work later tonight. He knows I am now obsessed with it. Do you have any idea how long it has been since I've put time into a hobby or passion that I truly enjoy so much? I had forgotten about how I used to love to put words together. I'm sure by the content and topics of my recent every day writings, you can see the talent seeping through the type face.

So because I know he will be reading this later, I am writing to my husband. But I'm going to share because I think many of you will be able to relate.

Dear Mark,

I picked it up today.

Actually it was about 45 minutes ago.

You know...

That cocoa puff.

The cocoa puff that's been sitting on the 3rd stair up from the living room that we've all walked over repeatedly day in and day out. I even think I kicked it lightly once. I'm so sorry. It was only half soggy and I believe you and I know that it's been there since Tuesday.

Well, here it is. Nothing professional... Nothing monumental. No, let me take that back - the fact that we got a picture at all (even though this is from our car window as we were entering the customs lane leaving Ontario and re-entering the US on our journey home) is very big. A moment of silence please.

On a serious note (which doesn't happen that often here), if you've not been to the falls on the Canadian side, make sure you put this on your list of "to-do's". Just drive over the border and back! Eat lunch at The Keg at the top of the Embassy Suites Hotel so you can request a window table just over the falls, take a deep breath and be amazed. It's stunning.

I'm laughing as I write the title to this post. My original intention was to complement yesterday morning's posting title. For those of you not able to follow my erratic way of thinking just yet, while yesterday was the boy's "first" day of school, today was the girls "first" day, therefore yesterday's title "Our First of TWO Firsts".

So I can hear my sister saying, "Sue, what's so funny about that?"

As I was just leaving this morning to drop the girls off, Mark sent me a text I will not quote ... but let's just say it was along the lines of letting me know that once again, on his way to school for the boys, HE received a text from their mom asking "How far are you from school?". Huh?

Yes my dear friends, she was meeting the boys and Mark once again today for another series of school pictures. She explains that TODAY is really Cooper's FIRST day of Kindergarten, since yesterday was just orientation. So the boy's have had their OWN "TWO Firsts"... and my humor is in my husband's ex-wife now giving yesterday's post title two entirely different meanings.

I laugh thinking about his basketball shorts and Nike t-shirt he adorns today, which will look majestic in this picture years from now... can you FEEL my smile?

If I lost you, I apologize. Please, please, please just read on. My erratic thinking is obviously a major characteristic flaw in any writer's mind. Alas, I am not a writer, remember???

So back to the girl's first day. We made it through like pros. I have been preaching 2 new rules all summer that would start today. Of course, my little one tested both between last night and this morning, but my nonchalant reminder of the rules and offering to help her actually worked and we did it. WARNING: These are big, life-changing rules, and you would not believe how they can make or break a morning ritual of simply getting ready for school:

We are all going to work on being more healthy. This includes eating healthy, choosing better snacks, and taking care of our own bodies such as brushing our teeth every night. (This is mind-altering, I know.)

We are going to work hard to pick out our clothes the night before school, and there will be no morning television until each of us are dressed. (I have turned into my mother mind you.)

We actually got dressed, watched some TV to relax, packed lunches and ate breakfast before I realized my camera battery had died. Of course, you can probably tell when comparing my blog to other "mommy blogs", I'm not one of those with overwhelming amounts of pictures. Mark and I are those people that TAKE our camera to most events, even vacations believe it or not...but won't usually remember that we packed the damn thing until our last day during hotel check out, or in the middle of a school event as we're being elbowed and stepped over by other normal parents who are willing to perform back bends and double somersaults to get that one good shot of their little tike singing or dancing or reciting their special poem.

Anyway, while I have continued to mock the boy's mom about her school picture tradition, I of course do all this in jest... Today, I can say to the world that I have independently taken my OWN girl's first day of school picture this year. Here it is:

Ok, so it's not here because I still don't know how to insert pictures in layers through text. But you can scroll to the top of my posting, as this is the only place I know how to insert a damn image so far!! (help any one???)[Reader actually scrolls up and reviews picture.]

Yes. We are in the almighty minivan. Yes. They are already seat belted. There is no pose. There is also no recurring theme or location for this traditional event. But I'll be damned, I got the picture, they are actually smiling, and we, my friends, made it to school just as first bell began to chime. This was a proud moment.

I am going to sit and savor in my personal glory today, for this was a successful "First" for me.

And maybe tomorrow, I will share with you Mark and I's recent picture of the Niagara Falls we so proudly snapped on our way home from 3 days in Ontario, as we drove over the bridge to re-enter the United States, entering our customs lane, remembering, at the very same split second of our departure from Canada, that we never even pulled out the damn camera.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

The house is once again full of 8 miniature feet thumping around... all 4 kids are finally here, and I absolutely LOVE when they get back together after not seeing each other for at least a week...

Mark and I suck to them on first day re-reunions such as yesterday afternoon. OK, "suck" probably isn't the most appropriate word, but it's very descriptive as to how I feel, compared to how they feel towards seeing each other... how about: non-existent. I can hear Sydney giggling, Samantha conning Cooper into having a garage sale trying to gather up my company "prostate cancer awareness pins" I insist she must give away for free to any passer-bys... Spencer alternating between the garage sale and shooting hoops outside with Syd while grossing each other out talking about a show they just watched that had some guy in the wilderness eating guinea pig intestines...

Do guinea pigs actually live in the wild?

So anyway, the most Mark or I can offer to please any or all of them is to move our cars out of the driveway. Fast! Seriously! People are on their way to the sale!!! Oh, and raviolis. Whew.

So if I try to get back to the whole point of my blog this morning, the boys started school today but the girls don't start until tomorrow. It was 8:23pm last night and suddenly, as if a lightening bolt struck the girls in their ass at the exact same time as we were heading up after our 10 extra minutes of Sponge Bob...

"MOM, can WE go see Spencer and Cooper's classrooms tomorrow???!!!"

"Ummm...

[stalling as I KNOW the preparation the boy's mom has put into newly coordinated outfits and sneakers, monogrammed backpacks and matching lunch bags on back order from LL Bean, and even more importantly, coordinating Mark's arrival time with the boys in order for her to meet them there to get their annual "1st Day of School" picture in their new fucking clothes in the same fucking spot in front of the same fucking school entrance sign...]

...Sure girls, why not?"

Shit.

Before I could stop it, the anticipation was too much too bear.

The girls ran...double step....upstairs...bursting in the boys bedroom, announcing and asking at the same time:

"WE'RE GOING TO SCHOOL WITH YOU GUYS TOMORROW!!"Giggles."Do you WANT us to come see your class rooms???"Giggles.Climbing up the bunk bed ladder.More giggles."Who's going to sit where on the ride to school in the car?"More giggles.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

I have come to a road in my therapy portion of my blogging experience and really face a challenge today. The challenge is around where I draw the line in the actual content I include for others to read. I've tried to make a commitment to myself to be open and honest with everything I write, however when it comes to the world of our children's "other" parents...I am at a standstill.

Why?

Because we've been sucker punched again.

We have promised each other to ensure as best possible our children are not aware of all the sucker punches we endure. However, today I want to scream at the top of my lungs to the world about my husbands ex-wife. I would actually pay $1,000 to have her sit in front of me alone somewhere and dare her to have a face-to-face conversation about how she treats the relationship between Mark and his two sons. Who the hell does she think she is???

That's what I want to ask her at this moment:

"Who the FUCK do you think you are???"

So, my blogging is supposed to be part therapy. However, what if one of our kids EVER ran across the link or open page I mistakenly left on the family computer screen, and read the truths or at least our version of things we deal with on a regular basis with one of their "other" parents.

Is there any etiquette regarding this issue? My children will always be my main priority, but I am today warning any possible readers, I may fall off the wagon.

While I continue to ponder this challenge, let the sucker punches continue.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Ok, I'm not even sure if it's appropriate to use the word "penis" on my life balancing so I say purpose of a blog. However, I do try to teach my kids to use appropriate terminology for anatomy, so I guess "penis" will be okay.

Here is a question I analyze often - provoked of course by men. Men in public. My husband. Groups of males on a street corner as I pass them. Athletic, professional men on tv or the local soccer field. All men. Just nonchalantly holding their fucking penis.

It doesn't matter if they are in public. It's like at times a prized possession they feel they must share with the world. Or at times, a possession they must coddle. Lovingly. They admire it. They idolize it. They live for it I think.

So I ask myself continuously, if I had a penis, would I hold it all the time as well? I do have two breasts - pretty big ones for that matter - probably at least a D cup that I insist will fit into a 36-C cup bra, ignoring the sides bulging out on each side, gasping for a bit more room or breath of air. But I don't hold them. Not even in private have I found myself unconsciously cupping them with my hands, consoling them or just plain acknowledging them to ensure they have not escaped my body.

So I ask all of you or anyone reading this, what is 'holding a penis' truly all about? Is it a security thing that men have? Is it an ego thing that they actually gain a little bit of male pride from? Does it excite them? Are they attempting to send a message?

Yesterday, my 2 year old nephew ran around my mom's kitchen - laughing, screaming, singing, playing. And the entire time I realized he had his hand in his diaper, just fondling his penis. Now for him at two years old it may have felt good...even amazing for that matter as he learns about his masculinity. However, it wasn't conscious. So finally I yelled, "Get your hand off your junk dude!" He laughed, and continued, as if I was non-existent. He is on his way to the almighty thing I now call "manhood".

My husband swears that with my personality if I had a penis I would hold it. Alot. But unfortunately, I will never know. So for now, my dear husband, I will share yours. I am willing to hold, coddle, cup and support that lovely penis of manhood you have, something I will never be able to experience on my own. I hope you don't mind.

Well, if anyone on the planet actually reads this stuff, my girls are due back tomorrow mid-day after being with their father for 12 days straight. This is the longest they have ever been gone, and I am missing them to the point of now admitting I even miss Sydney's OCD. Is there anyone else that deals with things like this from their little ones? Yikes...with school starting soon and the strict routine schedule approaching, I am doomed to become a prisoner again to all her funny ways. Next week these ways will NOT be funny. They will actually be debilitating to me after some time... I will shed a couple of tears to my therapist, and she will help me look at specific things and explain that especially because they were away from me for so long, it is her anxiety at work, and we will once again begin our work, slowly, together, issue by issue.

But today, I miss my girls to the point of missing Syd's captivating OCD tendencies, and would do anything to have to deal with the following, which are truly my ultimate favorites:

1. Washing Syd's 2 pair of Hello Kitty socks every night to ensure she has both to pick from in the morning to ensure sock seams do not effect the feel of her sneakers around her toe area. We used to have more, but slowly they become worn out. Little does she know, I AM NOW MORE PREPARED THEN EVER thanks to my husbands keen eye on vacation last week. While in Geneva, NY we drove past a dumpy strip mall and thanks to Mark's 20/20 vision he belted out words I could only have dreamed of: "Look, a Payless Shoe store to the right!!! Do you think they might have Syd's socks there?" I remember the anxiety that built up in my stomach as we entered the glass entrance. I didn't see socks anywhere - our Payless store at home has kids socks vividly displayed near the register. I lost sight of my husband as he turned the first aisle, and then I heard it. "Sue, right here." Hello Kitty socks. The EXACT style of the only socks made on earth that my daughter will wear without a 20 minute tantrum. I couldn't pull them off the rack fast enough. 6 pairs. I am a hero. Mark is my hero.

2. Pouring milk into her cheerios each morning to the absolute perfect height of her bowl. Not too little. It MUST be enough to allow 4-6 cheerios to get flooded from her bowl and land appropriately on the table below. If I dare to walk away without this scenario occurring, I will be beckoned faster than a speeding bullet with the words: "Mom, MORE MILK!!"

3. Tucking her in bed each night. But you couldn't begin to understand how literal I am when I use the word "tucking". We have now determined a fair routine that allows for me to lay with both Samantha and Sydney for the same time each night before bed. The latest volume of Kidz Bop has allowed harmony and peace while creating the following ritual: each daughter has 2 songs to have mommy lay with them and rub their back. Sam goes right down. Syd however of course has to create one last OCD pattern to ensure I do not forget about her after she has drifted off to dreamland for the next 10 hours. Here's how it goes:

It begins with precise placement of her two pillows which is an exact art to her as you watch.

Next, she will stand up to neatly pull and arrange her pajamas just so - no wrinkles or wedgies allowed.

The move that follows is very skilled - in Olympic diving it would probably fall around a 3.4 in difficulty. It's kind of like a "jump squat thrust" we used to do in gym class in the late 70's, maybe early 80's. Do you remember this move? Start from standing position, squat down, hands straight out front (on perfectly arranged pillows of course), then feet straight out behind her in plank (or full push-up) position. All of this must occur however while Mommy holds her comforter up as high as possible, because if I'm not paying attention the comforter could actually brush that cute little butt of hers and would cause the need to start this entire process over from the start. I've gotten very good at my part.

Finally, the tuck of the comforter. The tuck on my part is extremely important and could cause angst on both parties. It must be tucked tight. And it must be done in three motions. Middle of the comforter, then down by her feet, with the tightest of the tucks needing to be done right near her shoulders and neck.

When the tuck has been approved by my littlest of angels, it is the following words that tell me I will have the rest of the evening to myself with my husband: "OK Mom, turn the lights off and shut the door."

"OK, Syd", as I walk towards her door. I shut the hallway light off, breathing some relief (other times holding in tears as I feel like a prisoner to this routine) ... "Sydney, the light is off, and I'm shutting the door."